Mourn a life

I never could imagine 25, it was never much of a guarantee

Script from upcoming video essay

What does it mean to mourn a life—more importantly, yours?
I get lost somewhere beneath the depths, too caught in my own head. Too above others to really notice how my nature affects me, and the world around.

I never could imagine 25, it was never much of a guarantee with chronic illness. And maybe in my own way of playing along with it—I chose not to imagine it, growing up…that is.
I would be a retreating figure back to my coffin—a bed, where I could sulk for hours on end.

Though, no good happens there.
And I worry about the 7 years I spent suffocating in that underlying purgatory, I called it the back of my mind—your own can frame it too.
Mine was suffocating though, it's lifeless—it's just what I wanted while I tried to plead to the Gods to somehow, fix this all. I wake in pains because of autoimmune diseases, who better to ask to take it away—than God?

And through it, it seems like you can come out on the other side of it, but there's no return. Or mail back home, or a 'home'—in general.

It's in yourself, and it's isolating for me. I'm learning it in real-time with all the kinks and pains that come along, and I think back to an eviction—my own family's. Which has turned me into myself, more or less.
You fight hard times, harder people, and like a diamond in the rough—you can appear still.

But what of it, with this new found persona, mantra, being…of me. I never quite know what to do with it, if I should do anything at all with it. I want to save the world, I want to end it, I want it to know my name…but not any that I'm too keen on sharing.
Though, I made a decision, and one now 2 years old, at this point.

It was to start transitioning my gender, something I've made a point to do my whole life—for myself. But enacting it, actualizing it, that tends to be the harder part, and for it. I did it anyways.
I went back to school, and on the same day started injections too—part of not ever believing in 25 was part never being able to conceptualize my body, my mind has always seen it towards an off-putting way. One that is so falsely congruent it makes every fiber of me, shudder.

And still,
It seems like I've lost, or maybe better put, shed…an old life. One that was never going to work for 'me' anyways.But I still stand over it feeling this shame creep in on me.

I got out of an engagement, I traveled…making every mistake in the book, but with the people who you'd want to do it all with.
There's always this need to rush, anticipation is the name of the game to jump on a wave.

I've made music for well into 10 years now, I've produced 2200 songs. I have my name on distribution deals. I worked so hard for music to be my 'thing' —only to find myself turning the tides and realizing. It may have not been what I wanted this whole time. And that's been a huge piece of growing up for me. Understanding you can decide to shed things, or to take time to refine, and reflect—it's part of the necessary process, and how silly of me to neglect that for so long. I would've preferred to run my head towards the wall till I break…than express that even I, don't know what I'm doing.